


Oral Reprimand

by Arlennil



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Begging, Blowjobs, M/M, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlennil/pseuds/Arlennil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the TURN kink meme.</p><p>“Captain Tallmadge, I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain at your current position. Not without ascertaining that you can and will follow each and every order I give you to the letter.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oral Reprimand

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 1x03 "Of Cabbages and Kings". A TURN kink meme fill for the Ben/Scott prompt. Also the longest fanfic I have ever written and thus a reason for celebration. ^_^

“General Scott has asked for you, Captain.” The soldier waits until Ben acknowledges him with a nod and a soft “thank you” before leaving.

Ben sighs, putting his report – still unfinished – aside, and puts on his coat. Best not to keep General Scott waiting. He has never particularly liked Ben, and they have had a few rather pointed disagreements recently – well, as pointed disagreements as one could have with his commanding officer without being outright disrespectful. And that was before the New Jersey debacle. No, it would definitely not do to anger the General further. Ben hurries to his tent, all the while resolutely not thinking about what exactly could have led the General to seek out his presence, and especially not about the fact that the last time they spoke in private he told the General he’d take a court martial over shooting an attempted mutineer. It had seemed like the only possible choice at that moment, the boy was very young and clearly impressed upon by his older brothers. Ben has had mixed feelings about the decision since, considering that it had been for nothing. The boy died anyway.

Outside General Scott’s tent, Ben stops for a moment to compose himself. He has no desire to attend the court martial, but he has to reap the seeds he had sown, and as much as he resents General Scott’s lack of mercy towards the boy, he _had_ given Ben a choice. He cannot complain about the outcome of his own actions.

Ben nods to the soldiers standing on duty outside and anxiously steps in. General Scott is reading some papers on his desk and doesn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. Ben stops a few paces from the desk, glad to have some more time to prepare mentally before the inevitable dressing down. The papers’ soft rustling, the smell of the ink, the occasional scritch-scratching of the pen when the General makes a note – those familiar noises soothe Ben’s nerves. He waits for a few moments, thinking at first that the General is just that enraptured with reviewing whatever reading material he has, but as the time passes and Scott continues to ignore him, Ben realizes this is about something else entirely. This is General Scott deliberately pulling rank, ostensibly showing him his place, in order to humiliate him.

The thought sends a hot rush of anger through Ben. How dare he? He is not some common soldier, or an untried youth with no understanding of the chain of command. He is an officer, surely that does merit him the courtesy of being treated with a measure of respect, even if Scott seems to adhere to no such notion, as he’s constantly regarding Ben as inferior. He is suddenly feeling very reckless, and clears his throat to get General Scott’s attention.

“You wished to see me, sir?” The question is sharp and borderline rude, but Ben doesn’t care.

General Scott slowly raises his eyes from the papers he’s holding. He sets them aside in a precisely measured movement and reclines back in his chair. His eyes travel across Ben’s uniform, dark and unreadable. Finally they stop at Ben’s face, narrowing angrily.

“Do you know what your biggest flaw is, Tallmadge?” he asks abruptly, enunciating each word carefully. Before Ben can open his mouth, he continues, his voice getting louder: “It is the fact that you deem yourself better than your fellow officers, and therefore seem to be utterly incapable of following orders! Orders that _are given_ to you by your _superiors_!”

“Sir-” Ben starts, but the General holds up a hand to cut him off. ”Do not speak unless spoken to. Have you learned nothing during the time you spent in service?”

Ben closes his mouth with a click of teeth. The General’s words are scalding and he feels like he’s a boy again, green, barely of age to enlist, struggling with discipline and obedience. He lowers his eyes to the floor, clenching his jaw.

“Good,” announces Scott, standing up and circling slowly around him. “At least there are some orders you can still follow.” His voice is biting and bitter. His eyes flick up and down Ben’s body, then he seems to come to a decision. He strides to the door, commands the guard to leave and closes the entrance.

“For privacy,” he notes as he turns back to Ben.

Ben very carefully pushes all thoughts of _how bad is his reprimand going to be if they will need privacy in order to have it_ out of his head. He chooses a place on the desk to focus his eyes on and stares at it.

“Where was I?” asks Scott rhetorically. “Ah yes, on the subject of your many flaws, Captain Tallmadge. In addition to the unfathomable selection of orders you will and will not obey, there is another, most undesirable, trait of yours. One that you have only just exhibited.”

He waits for a moment to see if Ben will attempt to speak up, but Ben is not foolish enough to repeat his mistake and antagonize him further when he’s so clearly in a bad mood already. He has learnt his lesson in New Jersey. He knows the General better now.

“The lack of patience,” says General Scott. “It is an essential skill for a soldier and yet it seems you are sorely lacking on this front, Captain.” He steps closer, whispering dangerously into Ben’s ear. “Or perhaps it is a trait that only shows itself when acting upon my orders. You must be capable of restraint; otherwise you would not have managed to survive an ambush by the Queen’s Rangers.”

Ben sucks in a breath. The memory of that fateful day is still fresh in his mind, and it brings him no pleasure to revisit it. He still dreams about it sometimes. The entire patrol, men under his command, dead… He doesn’t break his glare, though, only blinks several times. He hopes that his face remained blank. General Scott seems determined to get a reaction out of him, and Ben is equally determined not to grant him his wish. He must not completely succeed, though, and some of the hurt must show on his face, because General Scott unexpectedly eases off. He takes a step back and lets out a sigh.

“Forgive me. That was… an inconsiderate remark.”

Ben feels curious enough to break his stare and glance over to Scott. He finds him leaning on his desk, a wry smile on his face. Their eyes meet and a sense of companionship passes between them, Scott’s eyes relaying his remorse and lack of malice. Ben’s expression softens in response, and he inclines his head a little, hoping it conveys that he accepts the apology. General Scott does not entirely hate him, then. That is enlightening.

“Well. Be that as it may; I have somewhat of a dilemma to consider,” says Scott in a lighter tone. “I cannot have disobedient soldiers unwilling to carry out my orders, however it is quite clear that the army would only profit from not subjecting a man of your qualities to a court martial. Tell me, Captain Tallmadge, would you fare better in another regiment?”

Ben’s mouth drops open. He is certain he looks like a fish out of water, but cannot bring himself to conceal his surprise. Blinking in confusion, he stammers: “I- I- what?”

“If it is indeed an issue of a personal objection, perhaps it would be to the benefit of all should you be reassigned to work under another commanding officer. I hear the 12th Virginia regiment is quite popular.”

“I assure you, sir, that will not be necessary-”

General Scott continues as if Ben had not spoken at all. “Or perhaps it is only a matter of a disruptive influence, and your behavior would correct itself were you parted from Caleb Brewster. That can be easily arranged; should you not wish to leave your position in command of the 2nd Continental Dragoons, a replacement for Mr. Brewster will be found. Of course, he may continue his service to the army in another manner suitable for his… skills.”

Ben once again finds himself gaping at General Scott. He has not anticipated being made to part ways with Caleb, and the thought makes him uneasy. He has taken Caleb’s company for granted, imagining them always at each other’s side, divided only by death in service or their family duties after the end of the war. Not to mention Caleb’s role as the go-between in Setauket would be made impossible if he were reassigned. That could compromise Abraham and Anna both, and Ben swore to himself he’d never let anything like that happen if he could prevent it. It’d be poor repayment for the risks they were taking, at the very least.

“General, I must object to this assumption. Any wrongdoings on my part have been mine and mine alone. Caleb Brewster has nothing to do with this,” he protests.

Scott fixes him with an unimpressed stare, crossing his arms. “Captain Tallmadge, I do not think you quite realize the gravity of the situation. I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain at your current position as you are now. Not without ascertaining that you can and will follow _each and every order_ I give you to the letter.”

“I have agreed to take the court martial,” says Ben, bewildered. He thought he had made his stance clear. “I will subject myself to whatever punishment will be deemed necessary.”

“And I told you the army needs you!” General Scott all but shouts at him, leaning forwards a bit. Ben’s eyes widen in shock; he almost takes a step back in the face of Scott’s unexpected outburst. Scott takes a deep breath and visibly makes an effort to calm himself, settling once again on the edge of his desk, hands held loosely at his sides.  
“You are a good soldier, despite your flaws. You have a knack for tactical thinking and are able to think quickly on your feet. There is no better man to command your dragoons. I cannot afford to lose such a promising officer over a petty squabble.”

Ben bristles a bit at General Scott’s casual disregard for the gravity of their disagreement in New Jersey – a man’s word is neither petty nor a squabble - but the feeling is surpassed by his joy at being complimented by Scott. Usually he is so quick to reprimand him, Ben had thought his input to be merely tolerated rather than appreciated. He hides the small smile tugging at his lips by bowing his head a little.

“However, my opinion of you is irrelevant,” says Scott. “I will not put the lives of my men in jeopardy due to your inability to comply with my orders, Captain.”

“What is your decision going to be then, sir?”

“You will not attend the court martial,” declares Scott. He sees Ben getting ready to protest and quickly adds: ”Do not interrupt me!” Ben acquiesces silently, although only to wait until he is finished talking. “As I have said, there will be no trial. But in order for things to remain as they are now, I need to know that you are capable of obeying me unquestioningly.”

The silence stretches a bit until Ben realizes Scott is waiting for a reply. “Yes, sir.”

“Well then, prove it to me. You can start by getting on your knees.”

Ben had thought General Scott had made him speechless before, but he was wrong. So very wrong. He lets out a disbelieving laugh. Surely he had misheard, his own mind projecting his most deeply hidden thoughts, ones he only dares to think in the dark of night, when no one can see or disturb him. General Scott is a gentlemen, there is no way he would ask that of him. Except Scott is looking at him, patient and waiting. Expecting to be obeyed, Ben thinks, the thought making him fell giddy. For a moment he imagines how it will happen, how he will sink down to the ground, look up to Scott and- no. He takes a deep breath, tries to clear his head of those sinful thoughts. This is not one of his imaginings, so it must have been only a joke. A very untasteful, inappropriate joke, but only a joke nonetheless.

“Well, Tallmadge?” Scot asks. His eyes bear into Ben’s, challenging him. He lifts one eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself?” There is nothing, not even the slightest twitch of muscle, to suggest the command was indeed meant as a joke.

Ben swallows uneasily, trying unsuccessfully to remove the stuffy feeling in his throat. He means it. He actually means it. His mind goes back to the forbidden idea that lurks large and foreboding in the back of his thoughts. He can feel his breath shortening, while he desperately searches for another – any other explanation. Meanwhile, Scott stares him down, his gaze strong and unflinching. He’s almost not blinking at all, that intense his look is, and it reminds Ben of a predator staring at his prey.

A game. That’s it. The General is playing games with him, trying to make him back out and admit that there is a line he will not cross, that he will continue choosing the orders he follows even after he has been dressed down for it. He’s trying to throw Ben off balance by telling him to kneel; he knows well what associations such an action has. He’s looking for an excuse to make Ben go back on his word.

Well. Two can play this game.

Ben takes a fortifying breath, tilting his chin up, meeting the challenge. Staring the whole time into Scott’s eyes, he goes down on _one_ bended knee, but no further. He resolutely does not take his eyes off Scott’s – the position puts him more or less on the level with Scott’s groin, and to look straight ahead would be a huge mistake. He doesn’t need his own head making this into something it’s not.

Scott’s eyes darken as the corners of his lips quirk up in amusement. He looks pointedly at Ben’s other knee, the one not in contact with the ground. “Is your knee troubling you, perchance, as your shoulder does still?”

Ben shrugs the shoulder in question. True, it does sometimes pain him, but only when he’s exerting it more than usual. It has been more than a month since Rogers shot him, and the wound is healed by now. The twinges are merely a reminder that the bullet passed too close to the bundle of nerves under the clavicle, the camp doctor told him. He has never thought Scott would have noticed the occasional annoyance his healing injury was causing him, as slight as it was. He must have been watching him quite closely. What a delightful little revelation.

“I appreciate your concern, General, but I am fine,” Ben says, smirking smugly. “Merely following your orders.”

“Oh, you are, aren’t you?” mutters Scott with a growl. “Well in that case, you may stay down there while I make myself more comfortable.” He drops his hands to his belt and starts taking it off. Ben’s mouth is suddenly dry and his eyes are transfixed on Scott’s hands. He doesn’t know what Scott is planning to do; he thought he had him figured out but he didn’t expect this. This jittery feeling is like leaping into water without knowing how deep it is, or like waiting on the eve of a battle. It makes butterflies fly in his stomach. His heart rate picks up.

Scott puts the belt on the desk, the buckle landing with a clank. He’s – he’s undressing himself, Ben thinks wildly. He tries to think of anything, anything else than what is happening right now but somehow can’t manage it, his thoughts unable to focus properly. He is firmly grounded in the moment, and it feels dream-like and surreal, because why ever would Scott undress in front of him, it can’t be because he wants Ben to do what he has dreamed about doing so many times-

Just before he actually sees Scott’s naked skin, Ben loses his confidence and looks in the one direction he will not have Scott’s cock in his peripheral vision: up. Scott’s eyes meet his again - they were dark before, but now they are charcoal black. If the color was all that Ben could see in them, he might have stood up and ran, his pride be damned, but there’s also a spark of something else. Interest, Ben thinks, desire, but also softness and uncertainty. Taking all he has learned of General Scott today in account, it all adds up to one thing.

This has never been a game.

Or, better said, if it was a game, then only one played between lovers courting each other. Except, only one of them has been doing the courting and now it is up to the other to send out a sign of how the courting has been received.

Ben smiles at Scott, showing his teeth, and then deliberately lowers his eyelashes to look at his cock. It is not that different from Ben’s own, perhaps a bit thicker, slightly curved to the left. It twitches a little when he looks at it, a small drop of precome appearing at the top. The sight makes Ben wonder how it would taste – salty, as that one time he has dared to lick his hand after taking care of himself in the night? He feels his face flush and his own dick respond, tightening his breeches, and decides to try. He owns Scott some payback, after all.

Ben leans in and licks the drop off. He’s almost disappointed when the taste doesn’t register. However, the subsequent twitch of Scott’s cock makes up for the lack of taste – it almost bumps his nose.

“Benjamin,” chokes Scott out. He sounds like he can’t believe his own eyes. His right hand comes up and strokes Ben’s hair.

He must be doing it right. Ben scoots forward a little to get a better angle, settles more comfortably on his knees and licks the head again, this time with a broad swipe of his tongue. He is awarded with a moan and another twitch, while Scott’s hand tightens in his hair. Ben does not expect the spark of pleasure that accompanies the pricking of his scalp – it makes him breathe in sharply, and with the air comes the heavy smell of sex. It clouds his thoughts and makes his mouth water.

Suddenly he is so curious about how Scott’s dick will feel in his mouth, on his tongue, that he doesn’t care he has never done anything like this before, he needs to try it. It’s like a craving one cannot ignore, only satisfy. He places one hand at the base, drawing the foreskin back a bit and revealing the glans, then closes his lips around the very top of it. Somewhere from above, Scott’s exhale turns into something resembling a whimper.

Ben experimentally moves his lips up and down the glans. It feels warm, velvety smooth but firm. He feels there is something more he should be doing, and so he tries taking more of it into his mouth. Originally he wants to go all the way down to the base, but he starts feeling uncomfortably full when there’s a good inch or two left, so he stops.  
Unfortunately, Scott choses this moment to press his hips forward. His dick bumps the back of Ben’s throat and he chokes, pulling off and coughing, making a face.

“Apologies,” whispers Scott. He sounds wrecked, like he’s the one with a cock in his mouth.

Ben makes an irritated sound. He will not be deterred that easily. However, he has no desire to choke again, so he places the other hand on Scott’s hips to keep them still and gets back to work. He has the basics worked out now, sliding up and down as much as he is comfortable with, and making up for the rest by pulling his hand at the base in more or less the same rhythm.

Scott seems to like it, because his breathing gets audible, quick, harsh pants occasionally punctuated by a small moan. His hand clenches and unclenches in Ben’s hair, but he makes sure not to push Ben down too much. Sometimes it feels like he can’t help himself, the way he jerks Ben’s head, but he always relaxes his grip afterwards. Those times his hips shift a little as well, but Ben holds him steady every time.

It goes on for some time like this; then Ben gets the wonderful idea of using his tongue. Scott practically keens and doubles over a bit, his free hand thumping on the desk. It is intensely satisfying, being able to reduce the General to such noises, and Ben keeps it up for a while before relenting and giving Scott time to gulp some air. He uses the pause to lick his lips – the taste is still only a shadow of what he hoped for – and admires the full red color of Scott’s prick. Then, unable to resist, he closes his mouth on the glans and starts licking around it. He is not disappointed. Scott continues making the delicious sounds, and both his hands wrap themselves around Ben’s head. The pressure feels like Scott has trouble deciding whether to push Ben further down on his dick or to pull him off entirely.

Ben finally goes back to sliding up and down, with the added benefit of licking Scott’s shaft whenever he can. His jaw is aching now, unused to being opened so wide and at such an angle. He wonders absently how long is it going to take Scott to finish; then unconsciously twists his hand at the same time as going down as far as he can. Scott’s whole body tenses.

“Ben- oh-” he manages, but it is too late, the salty taste of his come is already exploding on Ben’s tongue, and that’s it, that’s the moment Ben has been waiting for. He moans around Scott’s cock and continues the movement of his hand, determined to taste every drop. It feels even better than his own that night did, more liquid and warm, and he likes it. Scott’s hands have released the strands of his hair and are instead petting him slowly.

Ben reluctantly pulls off after Scott’s dick stops twitching, and settles on his heels. He is fully hard now, and it takes only a few moments to free himself of the containment of his tightened breeches. He sighs a little with the first stroke, as the pleasure is always so sharp and satisfying at the beginning and leaves him craving more. His breaths deepen as his right hand takes up speed, the other drops further down to caress his balls. Ben closes his eyes at the sensation.

He jerks them open a minute later, stilling the motion of both his hands, when he feels another set of hands settling themselves on his shoulders. Scott has circled around and is now standing behind him. He bends over and his breath tickles Ben’s right ear. “As you were, soldier.”

For some reason the words make Ben shiver and his breath catch in his throat. He feels goose bumps rising on his skin and resumes stroking himself. Somehow it is more exciting, pleasuring himself while Scott’s hands massage his shoulders gently, then roam across his chest and back. Desire rises quickly in his belly and Ben quickens his strokes, desperate to finish.

Scott’s right hand slowly descends to where Ben’s is moving up and down on his cock. It grips his hand tightly, stilling him for a moment and then pulls decidedly. Ben bites his lips on a broken moan; he lifts himself up a bit into Scott’s grip. It’s not that much tighter than his own, but watching their hands intertwined on his dick is incredibly arousing. Ben leans back into Scott’s body and lets him set the pace, which is maddeningly slower than he’d like.

Eventually he has to lean on his left hand as well, to avoid falling to the side, but there’s not much more he can do, only pant harshly, louder and louder, and twitch up and down, futilely trying to get more stimulation, because Scott maintains the slow rhythm of strokes and _does not speed up at all_. Ben sets his teeth into his lower lip to keep the sounds to a minimum while he goes slowly insane. Surely Scott can’t plan on doing this the whole evening, this sweet torture, he can’t stand it, and someone is bound to come, if they find them like this, find _Ben_ like this-

“Please,” the word rips itself out of Ben’s throat without his awareness. He is instantly ashamed, blood flooding his cheeks, but even that only adds to the excitement.

Scott chuckles deeply and finally – finally – starts jerking him off in earnest. Ben pants and twitches helplessly and finally comes, arching his back a bit. He manages to catch all of it in his hand, then lifts his hand to his mouth and licks it off. He hesitates in the middle of the act, only then thinking of the possibility that Scott may have a different opinion on that, and chances a look at the General. Scott is watching him intently - in fact, he seems unable to look away. They stare at each other as Ben licks the rest of it off his palm, Scott’s eyes focused on Ben’s mouth.

“I trust this has been enough of a reprimand for you to start carrying out my orders properly from now on,” says Scott afterwards, a little breathless still.

Ben smirks insolently, smug and self-assured, and tucks himself back in. His hands are a bit shaky after the orgasm. “Is that a threat or an incentive, sir?” The words come out a bit rough; he has to clear his throat and swallow the remains of the taste on his tongue to keep his voice level.

Scott leans forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. He studies Ben’s face, seems to come to a conclusion and huffs out a laugh. “Dismissed, Captain.”

Ben climbs slowly to his feet and turns to leave, throwing a half-respecting, half-impertinent “Sir,” over his shoulder. He isn’t quite sure what he expected, certainly not gushing admissions of love, but Scott’s words feel too much like a cold shoulder to him and it stings. He’s not sure if the General meant his previous words of praise, of it they were only a means to an end. He would very much like to be reassured of his worth in Scott’s eyes, but he is not going to ask. He already begged once. He has his pride.

Ben is at the door, one hand opening the tent entrance, when Scott says suddenly: “Oh, and one more thing, Captain.”

His eyes are fixed on Ben’s right shoulder, at the exact place Rogers had shot him, then they flick upwards to Ben’s. “You are not permitted to get yourself injured in the line of duty again.”

Ben grins widely and leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> The 12th Virginia Regiment is a reference to Nom de Guerre, an excellent Turn fic by luckysilverbell. If you haven't read it yet, go read it now. Shoo.
> 
> P.S. If you noticed any errors, especially concerning language, please let me know.


End file.
